You may have seen the government advisory advert. Simon, a hardcore stoner pleasantly baked on weed, opens the door to be confronted by assorted versions of himself with neon signs over their heads: "paranoia", "lazy", "talkative" and other dystopian dwarf names. Then, the menacing voiceover: "The more you mess with cannabis the more it can mess with your mind."

Here's an idea for a different version. Simon, a hardcore football fan hunched behind his laptop, opens the door to be confronted by assorted versions of himself with neon signs over their heads: "paranoia", "lazy", "talkative" and other dystopian dwarf names. Then, the menacing voiceover: "The more you mess with fantasy football the more it can mess with your mind."

With three days to go until the Premier League kicks off, important work is going resolutely undone in offices nationwide as grown men horse-trade and wheeler-deal to assemble their fantasy squads for the season ahead. You know the drill: assemble a squad of goalkeepers, defenders, midfielders and forwards on an imaginary budget of somewhere in the region of one Cristiano Ronaldo or a 25-seater mini-bus full of Michael Chopras, then obsess about them, often out loud and in the company of friends, until somebody cracks and punches you in the face.

Fantasy football is at once life-affirming and grimly depressing, but never boring … unless you don't play it and are marooned in the company of those who do. A hobbit-free acceptable face of role-playing, it's sold on the premise that it gives football fans an insight into the stresses involved in real-life football management. The fact that it leaves otherwise well-balanced individuals little more than a bad case of BO and the purchase of an imaginary orc-repelling magic amulet away from social pariah status is conveniently ignored.

The original game was created by Fantasy League Ltd in 1991 and captured the public imagination when it was licensed to 90 Minutes magazine prior to the 1992-93 Premier League; coincidentally the very season Sky Sports invented English top-flight football.

Productivity in offices promptly dropped by 81.52%, leading to the current global recession, which experts have blamed on shoddy banking practices instead of hundreds of thousands of blokes called Darren wasting hours trying to figure out how to accommodate Nicolas Anelka without having to ship out Leighton Baines or Ryan Shawcross.

The rules have always been straightforward. Once your imaginary squad has been purchased and a starting XI selected, points are generally awarded for player appearances, goals scored, assists, clean sheets and penalties saved, while bookings, dismissals and goals or penalties conceded result in points deductions.

They also result in incredibly tedious conversations between grown adults who should know better, which is why we could do with the government advisory notice endorsed in the opening paragraphs.

Paranoia? Tick. Such is my knack for consigning top-flight players to goal-droughts or spells in the treatment room by selecting them for my fantasy football team I have written to all 20 Premier League chief executives offering not to pick any of their players for a non-fantasy one-off payment of £10,000. Lazy? Tick. I'd explain why but the clock's ticking and I'm still £18m over-budget.

Talkative? Tick. "Bramble scored? Get in!!!", "Obviously I want Sunderland to win but I could do with them conceding three or four", "Who crossed for Carrick's goal?", "Did Stoke score from a Delap long throw?", "Did Ferdinand play? No, Anton." Obsessional? Tedious? Geeky? Demeaning? Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Not that any of this unpleasantness will stop me competing. I'd considered sitting out this season, planning instead to while away the 17 hours a week my absence would free up developing my blueprint for a more interesting version of the game in which points are awarded or deducted for off-the-field activities.

Premier League star in your squad filmed by Sky Sports News handing out presents in a children's ward at Christmas time? Plus two points. Premier League star in your squad filmed by a team-mate vigorously rogering an obliging groupie at any time? Minus two points. Premier League star's sexual technique praised or criticised in tabloid kiss-and-tell? Plus or minus three points. Premier League star signs into the Sporting Chance clinic, gets acquitted by a jury or successfully accepts the man of the match fizz without saying "rest of the lads" or "obviously"? Award yourself more points than you can wedge in a skip.

The possibilities and permutations are endless, but I'll keep plugging away. In the meantime, we'll have to make do with leagues that can swing on the back of bad back-passes and outrageous refereeing decisions, rather than crashed Ferraris and the appearance of hideous wedding snaps in future editions of Hello!